Heart's Tattoo
by My Barbaric YAWP
Summary: Hodgins deals with a gift from his father-in-law.


Dug this out of my archives. Enjoy!

* * *

The first time he saw his new tattoo, his thoughts were clouded by pain. The site of her father's vengeance was inflamed, and it stung like a sonofabitch. The man responsible had probably dragged Hodgins' sorry ass into the first shady tattoo shop south of the dust bowl that promised to make a grown man cry with an unsterilized needle. Hodgins could just feel infection spreading through his arm. He just knew he would die of sepsis, if thirst and the buzzards overhead didn't get him first.

His fatalistic fantasies faded in the shadow that moved between his eyes and the sun. Angela's father peered down at him, astonishingly thoughtful behind the regulation sunglasses.

The older man grunted. "You'll do. Run along home now, son."

And because the wiry sonofabitch Texan could kick his sorry northern ass over the Mexican border, Hodgins nodded carefully and closed his eyes until the shadow passed.

* * *

Angela's face stared back at him in the mirror. She was flirting at him over one shoulder, her expression coquettish in a way the real Angela would never bother to be. The real Angela didn't need to be crafty; she ensnared men's souls with one smooth, open smile along with her warm, welcoming eyes. This Angela had the eyes, but they were coy-deceptively inviting. This Angela was a Siren call, looking to shipwreck as many unfortunate souls as she could with her "come hither" gaze.

And he was stuck with her forever.

Of course he could have the tattoo removed, but those eyes where fatal. Big and round and warm, like Angela's heart, like many of her other fine qualities… And maybe that was why the tattoo was going to stay. Because a man got lonely. Because being able to say goodnight to the woman you loved was nothing to be sniffed at. Because without it, he would miss her eyes.

* * *

Sex with other women was pretty good. They were usually too distracted to notice the third party on his arm. It was only after that the vaguely disturbed questions began.

"Love your arms Jack, and apparently I'm not the only one…"

"I don't think she likes me, Jack…"

"Jack, who the hell is Angie and why is she forever?"

And rather than answer-rather than explain he was once engaged to and is still in love with the crazy daughter of an insane Texan music legend-he shrugs, as nonchalantly as he can while naked and horizontal.

"She left me this in the divorce. Along with the gonorrhea…."

"She doesn't like me much either…"

"Some chick I found on a post card in Montana. There was this cabin with no heat and lots of alcohol. Woke up in Wisconsin with this beauty on my arm…"

* * *

When Wendell enters the scene, other women exit. It's just shockingly obvious that Hodgins has no interest. At night he stares down her tattoo in the mirror, imagining life alone without her for the next fifty years. Imagining never getting to explain to their grand-kids why grandma looks melted on his old, wrinkly arm. Imagining dying alone with only her image for company.

And because he's had too much to drink, and he's drowning in self pity, he resolves to get the tattoo removed in the morning. When he's sobered up, when the world is as bright as Angela Montenegro's dazzling smile, when her face stops swimming, then he'll say goodbye for once and for all. Forever. Like Angie.

Of course the tattoo stays. He was too drunk to remember any promises, especially ones to himself. He steps out of the shower and inspects his blood shot eyes. Rough night. He glances down to check on Angela. At least this image doesn't seem to disapprove.

* * *

The discovery of his tattoo is a shock to them both. Angela never imagined its existence, and it's become such a staple of Hodgins' life that he's surprised when anyone finds it surprising anymore. She wants it removed, and all he can think to ask is: "Why?"

* * *

In their wedding motel room, she strokes her own likeness thoughtfully.

"It's still here."

He fights against sleep with a soft smile. "Baby, we're still here. Forever. Just like she says."

She laughs nervously. "This is crazy. It's crazy that you have a huge tattoo of my face on your arm."

"It's crazy that I don't even think it's crazy anymore."

"How can you not—she's huge and moon eyed and on your arm!"

"I love her eyes. I love your eyes. If I'm married to your eyes, how could I get rid of hers?"

"Because we're married now. And her eyes are a little creepy."

"Think of it as a work of art. Angelart. It just so happens that I am the canvas."

"This is insane."

"So are you. And your father. I love you both. And I'm keeping the tattoo."

"And there's nothing I can say to change your mind?"

"No."

"So if I want to keep you from showing that around…"

"You'd better hang on to me and my killer body."

She smiles, laughing while she snuggles deeper into his side. "Oh, I'm keeping both of you," she says.


End file.
